


let's embrace the point of no return

by twnkwlf



Series: Accidents [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Knotting, Alpha Stiles, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Barebacking, Bottom Derek, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Misunderstandings, Omega Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:32:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4962517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twnkwlf/pseuds/twnkwlf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can you meet me tonight?” Derek says it fast and breathy, like it came out on an exhale. “In the woods beside my house.”</p><p>Stiles grips the phone tight as he stands and sprints down the stairs. He is out the door with his keys in hand before he even says yes to Derek, before he even hangs up. Frankly, Derek could ask to meet him in the seventh circle of hell and Stiles would still speedwalk there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's embrace the point of no return

**Author's Note:**

> PART TWO! Go back and read part one! Some things might not make sense if you don't!
> 
> So yes, here is the next installment of this disaster saga. I'm not entirely sure how many parts this series will have, but stay tuned. Also, know that this fic is very filthy and I should go to church soon. 
> 
> Also, some trigger/content warnings at the end.
> 
> Come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://twinkwolf.tumblr.com/)!

Derek doesn’t feel well.

It’s not exactly shame, but it’s something akin to it.

Something like guilt and longing all blended up together, a cocktail, a fucking science experiment sitting heavy in his gut, sitting there like something toxic. Like a drug, his intestines slowly absorb it. His blood aches.

For 24 hours, his thoughts feed him subliminal messages  He digs himself into the research for his history assignment, throws himself into a the difficult levels of Mass Effect, but every few seconds, his brain lights up with an image of Stiles, or the sweltering interior of a cool blue jeep. He feels the ghost of a slippery tongue on his fingertips. Derek has taken three showers since yesterday, and still it feels like something is clinging to his skin

“Derek,” his mother’s voice comes from the other side of the bedroom door. “Are you decent?”

It feels like a loaded question, but his clothes are on, so he lets her open the door.

“You’re still not feeling any better?” Talia asks. She takes a few steps inside, stopping to pick up the various shirts and jeans scattering the floor, placing them in the hamper as she comes deeper into the room. She frowns at him as he shrugs. He’s lying down with all the blankets wrapped tightly around him, fending off the incessant feeling of nakedness with more layers. His mother sits on the side of his bed. He feels his chest tighten with a need to be hugged, to be held by someone-- his mother, his sister, Stiles, fucking Jackson. Anyone.

“Well now I’m not so sure I should leave you on your own,” she says, frowning deeper. She reaches out to feel his forehead and he leans into the touch. His mother is leaving tomorrow morning to take Laura back to school, since she’s spent all her travel money on god-knows-what. It will just be him and Cora holding down the fort, but really, it will just be Derek since Cora will undoubtedly take advantage of the 24 hour freedom to do whatever it is that Juniors do.

“I’ll be fine. Danny has all the notes from class.” He skipped school today again. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to return if this feeling lingers for much longer.

“I’ll have my cell. And you can always call Peter.”

“Because he’s such a great caretaker,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. The only downside of having a single mother is the fact that her brother has always tried to insert himself into their lives as some kind of alternative father figure. He’d call Peter for help over his dead body.  “It’s fine, mom. It’s only one night.”

 

***

 

 **Derek Hale**  ( _Add as friend +_ )

_To chat with Derek and other friends, turn on chat._

**Stiles** : _my # is 415 678 9903_

 **Stiles** : _but if you never want to talk to me again i get it_

Stiles sends the Facebook messages after three shots of his Dad’s secret whiskey stash.

“Who are you texting?” Kira asks. She’s hanging upside down off the couch watching Revenge of the Sith on the TV. Scott has gone to throw up in the bathroom. He’s been trying to get the guy to sit down and watch Star Wars in its entirety for the last three years, but something always seems to get in the way. It’s a lost cause, but Kira seems to be enjoying it, since she can recite every word of the dialogue verbatim and has been doing so for the past hour and a half.

“Lab partner for bio,” he responds smoothly. Stiles is an excellent liar.

Kira sits up and swings her long black hair over one shoulder, sniffling. Despite having drank twice the amount of whiskey that Scott and Stiles did, she’s not sick or acting silly at all. It’s a testament to how much better she is at holding her liquor. Scott usually vomits, or falls asleep, or both, while Stiles does other, more stupid things like drunk text people he should not drunk text.

He regrets sending the Facebook message almost immediately, but continues to stare at the conversation on the screen to see if Derek has opened it yet.

“Can, um…’ Kira starts, looking at the hallway toward the bathroom where the door is still shut. If he listens closely, he can hear Scott retching a little. “Can I ask you… I mean, talk to you? About a thing?”

The awkward tone in her voice finally slaps him out of his trance, and he sets his phone down to look at her. She has pink cheeks and her entire bottom lip between her teeth.

“Is this going to violate the bro code?.”

“Maybe...no I just….” she mumbles, chewing on her lip with more intensity. “Could you be _my_ bro in this context?”

“Out with it,” he says, flopping back on the couch and setting the phone aside.

With a sigh, Kira finally lowers her voice and asks him, “Do you think Scott doesn’t want to have sex with me because I’m beta?”

“Uhhh,” Stiles starts, because he seriously doesn’t know how to answer that question seeing as he hardly understands his own sexual hardwiring, let alone the complex inner workings of Scott motherfucking Mccall’s labido. “I don’t know?”

She sits back with him, growling with a little frustration.

“It’s just-- we haven’t yet and it’s been like...like _three months_ of making out on his couch, and never going any further. And now I’m kind of drunk and giving you too much information, but it’s driving me _crazy_. I mean, Scott says he doesn’t care about that stuff, but I keep thinking if I was omega, we probably would have, like, a sex swing set up in his room by now.”

Stiles braces himself and shakes his head back and forth. Kira is a relatively new addition to their friend group, but she’s just as close as Alison had ever been to them, maybe more so, since her parents are less strict. When Ally moved to France last year, Kira became the new set of dimples and the new consumer of Scott’s every freaking waking moment. She also has proven to be a better comic book fan, gamer, and drinker than all of them combined, and Stiles loves her maybe just as much as Scott, minus the wanting to put his mouth on her body.

“First of all,” he starts. “Mama Mccall would literally murder you two if she found a sex swing installed in any part of her house. Secondly, he was with Allison, who was alpha, by the way, not omega, and they had tonnes of sex.”

At this, Kira groans and frowns. ‘Great, so it’s not that I’m a beta, he just doesn’t find me attractive.”

He shoves at her shoulder, rolling his eyes. “Oh, shut up, we all know you’re a babe. What i was getting at is that Scotty is a good guy, alright? I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but he thinks that even jerking off to the thought of a girl without her consent is disrespectful, so he’d never put the moves on you without knowing it’s absolutely what you want to do.”

“Do I have to _write it in the sky_?”

“Kira, you will have to announce it over the PA system at school.”

She swats his chest playfully just as the bathroom door opens and Scott comes stumbling back down the hall. He looks a little green, but he has a dopey smile on his face directed toward Kira. She smooths herself out to make it seem less like they were just discussing her sex life.

When he plops down on the couch next to her, they cozy up closer, and he rests his head on her shoulder while she sets her chin down on his crown. “Do you feel better or should I get you a bucket?” she asks him, smoothing his bangs from his face.

“I’m good. I’m perfect. You’re perfect,” he responds, kissing her collarbone and sighing.

Stiles watches them be together for the duration of the evening, watches them just be intimate and how their breath matches up. Scott  has his eyes closed, inhaling slowly while Kira’s fingernails drag along his arm, eyes fixed to the television and mouthing along to the movie all the while.

Stiles allows himself to ache for it, for it to beat bloody murder against the inside of his chest. If he ever thought he was a third wheel before this moment, then that was nothing. He feels like a voyeur looking through a glass, impossibly alone, impossibly lonely.

Derek may aswell be ten thousand miles away.

 

***

 

It’s difficult for Derek to fall asleep that night, knowing how close Stiles is, how close he could be if he just picked up the phone, sent him a text with the number he gave him. Part of him thinks that maybe if he even just yelled out his name, the kid would come running to him. He pictures it like a scene from a movie, watching from the window of his bedroom as Stiles’s distant red hoodie grows bigger, as he jogs up the long gravel path that leads to the gate, then out to the woods.

Or perhaps it would be the other way around. Derek could slip undetected from his house, barefoot, quick like a rabbit. He would go out to the woods and start running, all the while knowing that Stiles lurks behind some tree, in the thick of some foliage, in the dark waiting. Derek would get rid of his clothes and just listen as he ran, listen for a beating heart or a gasp of air as he was chased. He would anticipate the moment Stiles caught him, the pounce. He would arch his back for it, kneel on the ground, crawl and scratch his way through the dirt to his mate.

Fuck, his thoughts are brutal. It becomes a fantasy that he can almost taste.

He wants him. He’s never wanted anything more. Derek is starving, and Stiles is a poisoned feast, just waiting for him, just glistening.

Derek Stands from his bed and moves to the window. His ass has been leaking all day, making him change his shorts, hide the soiled ones at the bottom of the hamper. With every step, he feels the viscous slide of his body, wet, giving of heat from the friction. Derek takes a deep breath of air and leans his head against the window pane.

He punches in Stiles’ number with a shaky hand. He’s surprised to feel relief instead of dread when the dial tone starts to ring.

 

***

 

Kira and Scott snore on Stiles’ bedroom floor while he stays awake, staring up at the ceiling, trying to get his brain to shut the hell up. It’s like the volume has been turned to maximum, like if he opened his mouth now, he would start screaming his thoughts the way they’ve been screaming inside his head, which pounds with the lingering effects of the whiskey.

He abandons his bed, carefully stepping over Kira and Scott from where they spoon on a pile of blankets. He shuts the door softly, even though the two of them are dead to the world. His dad is on the night shift, and the house is still, quiet.

He’s halfway down the stairs when his phone vibrates in his hands, an almost violent sensation.

An unfamiliar set of numbers lights up his screen as the call goes on, and Stiles can hardly feel his own fingers. He answers the call and slips to sit on the middle of the staircase.

“Hello?”

There’s silence for a few moments. White noise and breathing on the other line. Stiles doesn’t say anything, just listens to the sounds and waits for something to happen.

Finally, finally, Derek speaks.

“Hey.”

“It’s…” Stiles pulls the phone from his ear to look at the time. “It’s really late.”

“Were you sleeping?”

“No. I can’t sleep.”

Derek takes a deep breath before responding. “I can’t sleep either.”

“Are you…” he doesn’t know where to begin. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look, I--” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry about the thing...in the car. I don’t want you to think that I’m some kind of predatory alpha jackass, I just--” _Just couldn’t stop myself?_ Stiles pinches at the flesh of his wrist because it sounds so ridiculous. He’s been acting under the _definition_ of predatory alpha. Stalking and obsessing, no impulse control, no control at all. He should have never gone off the suppressants. It was only for two days, and still, he feels the lingering imposition of rich chemicals, deep seeded hormones that cloud everything. He wishes he could take it all back, start this over, start this right.

“I’m not mad about that.” Derek takes a long time to get the words out. “Maybe I shouldn’t have...run away so fast.”

“What do you…?” What do you want? What are you thinking? What are we doing? He can’t say these things. He lets his sentence trail off into another awkward silence. This phone call has been painstakingly sparse and tense, but Stiles can’t imagine making small talk. He doesn’t know what kind of conversations they’re even capable of holding. So far, the deepest thing Stiles has managed to ask the other boy is _“how can I make you come?”_

“Can you meet me tonight?” Derek says it fast and breathily, like it came out on an exhale. “In the woods beside my house.”

Stiles grips the phone tight as he stands and sprints down the stairs. He is out the door with his keys in hand before he even says yes to Derek, before he even hangs up. Frankly, Derek could ask to meet him in the seventh circle of hell and Stiles would still speed walk there.

It’s all impulse, no control.

 

***

 

Derek squeezes his torso, fending of the shivering, back pressed against the tree, even though the night is breezeless and slightly humid. It’s his nerves, making him nauseous, making his skin itch, his stomach crawl with worms.

This isn’t like the fantasy. He isn’t crawling through the dirt or taking off his clothes. The woods are navy blue and lit with a full moon that’s slowly getting feinter as the light starts to fill the sky. It’s something like four in the morning, but Derek is alert, awake.

He still doesn’t feel well-- feverish and damp from the inside out. He doesn’t feel anything except the fast, nervous energy and the same uncontrollable need to bust out of his skin, to have his insides be touched and pulled wide, and to be open, uncased.

It scares him.

He isn’t very far into the woods, so he can hear it when the jeep pulls up through the dirt road, can see the headlights glaring in then fading out through the trees and bramble. He hears the door open and the engine go dead, and the cracking of branches under foot. Then he hears a soft, almost fearful voice call out his name.

“Over here,” he says, just as soft. A few seconds later, Stiles comes around a few bushes, kicking a stray stick out of the way. In the dark, his skin looks paler than ever, but the moon plays shadows across his face that make him look older.

“What are we doing out here?” Stiles asks as he steps closer. He has one foot poised in the air when he stops moving completely. His eyes shut and he pulls himself back. “Derek…”

“What?” Derek moves toward him, not really of his own volition, and then Stiles opens his eyes. They’re watery, pupils blown wide.

“I can’t--” Stiles stutters, scratching at his white t-shirt, at his belly.

Is it the smell? Derek doesn’t know if he can relate, because for him it’s not about the smell of Stiles-- boy sweat, motor oil, laundry detergent. For Derek, it’s more the sight of him. It’s the fact that under his spider-man pajama bottoms is a bulge that he can’t stop fixating on. Derek can’t smell him, but he inhales deep either way. He watches Stiles do the same. He doesn’t know why Stiles reacts this way when his mom hasn’t even wrinkled her nostrils toward Derek in two days.

“It’s so much stronger.” Stiles takes a step forward, breathing in, breathing in, breathing in, the slow pull of air through his nostrils. He gasps out the exhale, “Can I just?” he asks, his fingers reaching out for Derek’s body.

As Derek goes to him, lets Stiles push his head down against his neck, lets his mouth sit open and hot against Derek’s pulse point, he feels his slick pool in his shorts. Stiles groans deep and muffled, hot and wet air puffing against Derek’s skin. He feels his knees buckle and give out, eyes rolling in his head. Stiles’ mouth starts to taste and lick at Derek’s neck, just this one spot close to his collar, and Derek can’t breathe from it. They go down together, ungraceful and messily, knees hitting the ground hard while Derek wraps both arms under Stiles. He forces himself into Stiles’ arms this way, not to hold him, but to be held.

After a frantic moment, Stiles pulls away, just for a second, only to look at Derek. They have a silent conversation, a hundred indecipherable words, and fear, and need going unspoken. Stiles breaks them out of it, burying his face in the other side of Derek’s neck.

Like a shock to his system, Derek feels a hand touch his back, sliding his shirt up and down. It moves to dip into the waistband of his flannel pajamas, touching the top of his tailbone, daring to go further. Derek makes a soft noise that means, yes, and arches his hips forward in a jerky movement. Stiles goes for it just as he begins to suck on the skin of Derek’s neck. His fingers find Derek’s hole immediately and they barely touch him.

The sensation is maddening, like dragging a single soft nail over an intense itch. Derek’s body tenses and releases over and over, and he realizes, his hole is fluttering with the movement, too. Stiles sucks harder on his neck and it’s all too much. He ruts up against Stiles’s stomach and turns his head to the sky.

Derek checks out of his body. He becomes someone else, something else. He doesn’t know if he planned this to happen, if he expected this to happen, or if it’s been his body this whole time driving him forward, making that call, walking him out to these woods. He doesn’t know if it’s his own voice frantically whispering into the open morning air.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” he says like a mantra.“Fuck me, fuck me, please, pl-please, I can’t...I can’t…”

Stiles practically sobs, sagging against Derek more. Without lifting his head, he tugs at Derek’s waistband until his ass is exposed. The cold rush of air against his hole is a contrast to the heat of Stiles’ fingers, which are still resting there, like he doesn’t know what to do. Derek positions his knees quickly, entrapping Stiles more, straddling his waist and making him lean back on his calves where he kneels in the dirt. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s nothing compared to Derek’s insides, which feel like they are tearing apart at the seams. He can only focus on the hardness of Stiles’ twitching cock through the threadbare fabric in his lap. He can't think of anything else. Nothing else exists. Stiles takes one hand and with a few quick movements, pulls his cock free from his pants. Derek can't see it in the dark, and with their bodies pressed so closely, but he can feel the wetness of his precome against his stomach.

He lifts himself up until he can feel the blunt head of Stiles’ cock right against his hole, until Stiles has to stretch up as well to keep his face in the crook of his neck. Stiles’ fingers fall away.

“Oh my god,” he hisses as Derek sinks down.

 

***

 

He is inside Derek Hale.

He’s inside an omega.

The smooth glide of his cunt completely envelopes his cock, like the wettest, tightest place in the world that could fit his girth is right here, inside Derek. Like he was made to be in this place forever. His vision whites, toes curl, and the air goes out of his lungs. He hungrily gulps air against Derek’s chest as he tries to process the feeling, the tingling pleasure that runs parallel to his spine. If he moves right now, he will come.

Derek’s hands hold his head still, pressed to Derek’s chest now, though he wants to return to the welcoming scent at the juncture of Derek’s throat, he needs to break away from the onslaught of sensation. It’s enough to be touching Derek’s insides like this.

Thirty seconds pass and then Stiles pulls his head away. The need to fuck is unbearable,

“Please,” Derek whispers, looking at him in the face. “I need you to--”

Stiles plants one hand on the ground beside his ass, and the other wraps around Derek’s middle. He pulls back, relishing the sweet drag, the rim of his cunt catching on Stiles’ cock head. It’s a sensitive spot that shocks him, like touching an exposed wire. He whimpers and Derek gasps when he pulls out completely.

“Lie back,” he says, surprised by the steadiness of his own voice. Derek swallows thickly as he slips backward, legs falling apart. wide while Stiles kneels to move between them. Looking down is a sight to behold. Stiles’ cock bobs and glistens with Derek’s slick, his own precome mixed irrevocably with the wetness. In the soft navy light of the early morning, Derek’s hole is dark and secretive, circled by soft black hair and messy with swollen redness, shiny slick. Stiles lines himself up.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, really, but his body takes over, bucking forward on instinct alone. He presses deep into that impossibly hot, plush wetness again, and his pores practically sing with the sensation.

Derek makes a guttural, hollowed out sound when he bottoms out, squirming under Stiles’ thighs until he pulls back. Stiles tries to maintain some control, tries to keep it rhythmic, but he stutter stops and jerks inside Derek’s cunt with inexpertise. Derek pants so fast and hard, he’s worried they might both black out from lack of oxygen in the shared space, but Stiles’ thighs shake with the need to come, so he doesn’t stop it.

“Fuck,” Derek sighs. “More, more…” He meets Stiles halfway on the next thrust, making their thighs slap together and an obscene sound ring out through the woods.

“Am I making you come?" he grunts out. Derek takes his cock over and over, with every rough stroke and botched thrust, he meets Stiles at the hips, hooking an ankle around his ass, pulling him tighter. Derek whines, an impossibly filthy sound in the back of his throat that makes Stiles feel like everything is leaking out of him. "Are you gonna come on my cock?” he finds himself whispering. “Come all over me…?" 

Stiles bites his lip at the feeling. It’s massive and gathering deep in his belly, a stretch like a huge, satisfying lungful of air. He shoves into Derek harder, feeding the sensation until his eyes are watering. He can’t stop the string of words, like always, when he’s so close.

“Do you want my knot?” he gasps as Derek’s insides tighten around him, as the next drag of their sex is tighter, fuller. His balls draw up tight, his thighs bearing down, and he grunts one more powerful thrust into Derek as slick squelches and pours from deep inside him. Derek is coming hard on his dick, mouth wide open, eyes rolling back into his head as his body seizes up under Stiles. 

“I’m coming, oh fuck, _fuck_ \--” Derek’s cunt squeezes and grips down on Stiles just as the orgasm starts to pulse through his whole body. Then Stiles is coming with a lurch, falling forward, only barely stopping his fall with his hands on either side of Derek. His ass clenches, cock spasming in tandem with the hot clench of Derek around him. He feels himself pulse with a load of come, then another, and another, all the while twitching and squirming against Derek’s neck. He comes for what feels like an hour, just a never ending rush of liquid heat and the flutter of his muscles, of his cock spurting. Derek shifts under him, eyes closed and they both gasp for air that isn’t reaching their lungs fast enough. When he moves his hips, something tugs at them both.

He knows instinctively what’s happening. His knot is stuffed inside Derek, oversensitive and full. He just collapses on top of Derek, keeping his eyes shut tight. With the orgasm now just an echo in his chest, the fear sets in. He’s never knotted a thing before.

“You--” Derek starts.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m--” he pants against his chest, afraid to move a muscle. “It was an accident.”

Derek breathes through his nose, growing restless under Stiles. After a moment, he starts to shift his hips from side to side and up and down, tugging at the swollen, buried knot inside him. Stiles hisses and recoils-- it’s too much.

“I need…” Derek starts out, whimpering. “More...just...just move, please. More.”

Stiles pulls away and tries his best to bear down through the assaulting sensation. He tries to shift his hips a little and ends up jerking out another unsatisfying load, one that is all spasm and no pleasure.

Derek _sobs_ under him.

Something is wrong.

 

***

 

Derek can’t see.

He fucks up into the weight of the knot, the perfect fucking knot, just buried deep inside him. He has to come again. He needs to come again. He has to come again, and again, and he doesn’t understand why he can’t.

“Deeper,” he moans out.

“I can’t-- Derek, stop--”

Derek lets out a whine that is half crying, half pleasure. He can feel himself getting closer, if he just moves his hips in another circle he can come.

“Shit,” the alpha says, pulling back. Derek feels the knot tug against his insides again and that’s all he needs. He explodes around the knot, screaming out. His pores leak sweat as his ass leaks with more wetness, and everything is hot, hot, heat.

“Derek, Derek,” a voice says. Someone is touching his face, feeling his forehead.

“Again, again, again--” he demands. He whimpers. “Please, God, Please.”

“You’re okay, you’re okay, Derek?”

Derek bucks his hips violently, twisting himself and bearing down on the knot as much as he can. Almost...almost…

Suddenly, he comes loose, the knot pulling free from its home. The sudden emptiness of his cunt makes him cry out as he opens and closes on nothing, on air. He shudders, pawing at the ground. Something scratches his arm, cuts him open a little, and he thinks there might be blood, but it doesn’t matter. He needs the knot and it’s gone.

 

***

 

Stiles can still see that his cock is knotted, but it had went down enough to pull out with some struggle. Now he’s kneeling in the dirt, catching his breath and watching Derek write on the ground as he himself tries to shove his cock back into his pajamas. Derek is panting, chest rising and falling with violent gasps of air. Stiles’ heart tightens in his chest with fear.

“Derek, what’s going on?”

Derek doesn’t respond, or he can’t. He looks wrecked. The sun is starting to fully rise now, bringing harsh light down around them. Stiles stares at the place between Derek’s legs. It’s bright red, swollen, leaking with the mess of his come and his the slick that, somehow, keeps dripping from him. Stiles moves back to Derek, this time near his head, reaching out to cradle it, pull him into his lap.

“Make me come, please, please, fuck,” Derek mutters through his breath. Stiles watches with fascination and horror as Derek shoves himself back against Stiles, reaching for his arm. He lets Derek move his hand down between his legs and touch the mess of his hole. Stiles sinks three fingers in immediately and Derek sighs with some contentedness, bucking his hips forward and back. It’s as if he’s not even conscious of it, like he has no control. Stiles presses his mouth against Derek’s temple, coming to a few conclusions.

“Derek, you’re in heat,” he says. Derek doesn’t respond, just continues to fuck his fingers like it’s the only thing he’s capable of. Stiles notices that Derek’s cock is only half hard, that he doesn’t even have any come on his stomach. He’s called back to freshmen biology when Harris tortuously explained to them the physiology of the omega in heat, the lack of seminal fluid and sperm production in favor of the lubrication production, the ovum production. 

Stiles feels like crying.

He feels like crying because he doesn’t know how to help an omega in heat. You’re supposed to see heat therapists and have tests done before you even consider engaging with your heat week. You’re not supposed to go out into the woods and fuck in the dirt and leaves until it’s over. You’re supposed to have a special diet, and water, and round the clock check ins with medical professionals. Most people, if they do it, go to a clinic for the week. This is all wrong and fucked up, and dangerous. The panic sets in when Derek starts to thrash his head back each time Stiles tries to bring his fingers away from him. 

Stiles also feels like crying because it’s dawning on him that this whole thing is confused. Maybe Derek never actually liked him. Maybe all of this was heat and nothing else.  Maybe all of this is because he skipped two doses of suppressants, and Derek was just the unlucky omega who was affected by his pheromones. Stiles was probably affected by his. This whole thing has been a trick played by their bodies. Ten minutes ago could have been the best night of his life, but watching Derek struggle to breathe and move, feeling the rotten leaves and damp ground on his back, and the unwavering heat of Derek's body on his front, Stiles thinks this could turn into the worst.

Heats are supposed to be done with mates, and marriages, and contracts. 

Heats are supposed to be done with birth control. 

They sit there for another ten minutes while Derek gets off four times on Stiles’ fingers, and he’s still begging for Stiles’ knot, still hot to touch.

Stiles pulls his hand away from Derek’s searing hot insides, tries to ignore the moaning and shuddering sobs that rock through him as he stands up. Stiles actually does start to cry a little as he moves away from Derek, who has lost his pants and boxers somewhere in all of this, and he starts to curl up half naked against a tree, shuddering.

He has to slow his breathing as he dials 911.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a whole bunch of consent issues going on in this story. FIrstly, this canon is operating under the A/B/O trope of /uncontrollable hormones/ therefore Derek and Stiles end up doing lots of things they wouldn't normally do with clear heads. Secondly, there are specific incidents where Stiles asks Derek to stop and Derek does not listen. Again, messed up hormones and consent issues. Also, Stiles is 17 while Derek is 18 , and there is also some underage drinking.


End file.
